


Oblivion

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Astral Traveling, Dubious Consent, Lovecraftian Elements, Mind Control, Multi, Multiple Penetration, Prompt Fic, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac knows that he's watched, too, and somehow he wants everyone to see, wants to share the excitement, the bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oteap](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Oteap).



> [set in a post 3b future that adamantly ignores some canon events]

The door clicking shut sounds final, echoes loudly though the silent room.

“I still think someone should anchor us,” Allison whispers as Scott sits back down beside her.

“Who? Peter?” Lydia grimaces. “I'd rather die, thank you.”

“Your wish may be granted, you know? Just saying.”

“I said things may _seem_ real on an astral travel, Isaac. Not that they necessarily _are_.”

“But you know what you're doing, right?”

“Trust me.”

~ ~ ~

Although their bodies stayed behind, safe in Scott's room, the dim passage that they find themselves in feels strangely physical, from the rough texture of the stone floor underneath their bare feet to the nauseating stench that permeates the place.

With thundering heartbeats, the pack moves on, step by step towards flickering lights and agonized sounds, until the passage opens into a cavern. There, where the air is thick and humid, dozens of torches light the abyss that stretches before them. In it, filling the chasm completely, lies a squirming mass, undefinable, so foreign that its appearance is hard to grasp.

It is living, breathing matter, a being older than time. From its center, the nightmare creatures that overrun the physical world—the harbingers of apocalypse that ultimately led the pack here—pour in a steady stream. Ignoring the group entirely, they crawl away as fast as they can, but not all of them escape: many are grabbed with whipping tentacles, pulled back to melt with their creator again and be formed anew the next moment.

The pack stands rooted to the ground, frozen in horror at the obscenity before their eyes.

“Is that . . . _it_?” Scott whispers, and Lydia nods infinitesimally.

'It' didn't have a form at all in her dreams, but nonetheless she knows that this is he: the Outer God who had called for her. The demon that had demanded a sacrifice of a kind yet unknown, lest it destroy the world.

“So what now?”

“I don't know, Scott,” Lydia says sharply. As she speaks, a jolt runs through the creature, as if it recognizes her voice. It reaches for her, wraps one of its tentacles around her wrist and nudges her closer. Stiles calls her name, Allison shrieks and the werewolves bare their teeth, but Lydia hushes them all with a quick motion.

“Wait.” She takes two steps forward. “He's talking to me.” Cocking her head to the side, Lydia focuses on words that don't seem to make sense; what _he_ demands is utterly disturbing.

Covering her mouth with one hand to keep a whimper from emerging, she turns to face Scott. Her cheeks are burning, and her eyes are wide with shock.

“What? What's it say?”

Not a sound passes Lydia's lips. She shakes her head slowly, unbelieving, but when she backs away from the creature, another tentacle winds around her waist, pulling her even closer.

Derek is the first to lunge forward, but the _thing_ snatches him in mid-jump and pins him against the cavern's wall. Scott and Isaac share a look of disbelief; _it_ reacted so fast that their enhanced senses barely registered the movement at all. Before they can regain composure—before they even realize they lost it—a low thrum fills the place, echoing from every surface.

Instinctively, Isaac covers his ears, but the sound vibrates right through him, dazing him. To his right, Scott is knocked over and to his left, Allison is seized by yet another tentacle; there are so many of them in frantic motion that it seems impossible to evade them.

Mouth agape, Isaac watches Scott being dragged over the floor, almost colliding with one of those malformed freaks that now cease to emerge; the few of them that are still released flee the place fast.

The creature snarls at Scott, and Scott snarls right back, but before he can snap at it, he's flipped around, pinned down face first, and that's when Isaac understands that he _needs_ to move.

The moment he takes a step forward, a tentacle wraps around his leg and flings him up in the air. A surprised yelp dies in this throat. When it occurs to him to claw at the pulsing flesh that is holding him upside down it's too late: while his mind blanked, the _thing_ effectively immobilized his arms.

Try as he may, there is no breaking free. Groaning with frustration, Isaac hazards a glance at Allison, immediately wishing he hadn't. Her wrists are bound behind her back. One slim tentacle crawls up her thigh while another curls around her neck, slowly dragging its tip along her cheekbone in a travesty of a caress. Allison's widened eyes trap Isaac's. Her lips quiver as if she'd start to cry any moment now, and it stings him that she, the strongest person he knows, might be on the verge of a breakdown.

He whispers her name, and, as if he could will it to calm, tries to focus on her pounding heart, to no avail. He hears growling—Derek?—cussing—Stiles!—and the sharp noise of fabric being torn; Isaac barely notices his own clothes coming apart piece by piece. The air is filled with the tang of fear, but beneath that lingers a growing arousal.

Isaac wants to scream, despite knowing it isn't real, that it only happens in his mind. He wants to scream, but that's Lydia's job and she does it, only to be shut up the next moment. Isaac is grateful he doesn't see how, but he's got a fairly good idea, one that makes his stomach revolt. What he sees, though, is the tentacle around Allison's leg gliding up and underneath her skirt. He squeezes his eyes shut, but he can't block out her gasp or ignore how it's followed by a soft moan.

_It isn't real!_

Panic is too weak a word to describe what's choking Isaac, but whatever does wash over him in icy waves intensifies when he is pinned to the floor with his clothes in rags and his legs spread wide. He writhes, but the _thing_ is so strong and he feels so weak, suddenly deprived of all energy.

A whimper leaves Isaac's mouth, mingles with a sigh from Scott that sounds so close that Isaac fears to bump against him if he squirms any more; he stills. Tears wet his lashes as one of those slender tentacles ( _Feelers,_ he thinks incoherently, but this is not the time to examine alien anatomy) crawls up his body, leaving moist traces on heated skin. It latches onto a nipple at the same time as two more, slick and warm and pulsating, curl around his cock and balls. Isaac clenches his teeth, lest he really scream. He doesn't want his mouth shut like Lydia.

He tries to wake up, escape, with all his might—and yet, the resistance of mind melts with every new touch. For a moment, he wonders why—how—but when one tentacle slides between his ass cheeks, nudges him, breaches him too easily, an overwhelming warmth shoots through him, calming him completely. His wolf growls, claws, but he's caged, overpowered by that glow, and all Isaac can do is let out a heavy moan, helpless to an unknown rush of pleasure.

It's only the beginning.

The _thing_ is all over him; he's wrapped in it, every contact fuel to the fire. Never in his wildest dreams has Isaac imagined he'd enjoy to be touched like that, fucked like that, and yet it feels amazing, good beyond words. He wants more, almost voices it, but the creature seems to know his innermost needs, or maybe it just takes whatever it desires. It doesn't matter; it's not like Isaac could fight it off if he wanted to.

Another tentacle pushes inside him, deeper than the first, but also moving slower. It brushes over Isaac's prostate, again, again; his eyes flutter open and a breathless sigh parts his lips. His unfocused gaze wanders.

Beside him, within touching distance indeed (if he could reach out), Scott is on all fours. His flank is beaded with sweat, his hair glued to his temples. He has buried his face in his hands, bites broken moans into his skin as he's rocked back and forth with every thrust. The sight is so intoxicating that Isaac doesn't want to miss a single second of it, although he knows he shouldn't watch his Alpha come apart like that.

When Scott looks up, meets Isaac's gaze with glowing eyes, Isaac turns his head away quickly. Embarrassment burns his cheeks, but he barely realizes; the sight of several tentacles thrusting in and out of Allison and Lydia in no particular rhythm, no discernible pattern, stuns him. The girls are held up in the air, bound back to back, skin slick and shiny with sweat and the creature's fluids. They're pure beauty, sheer perfection. Isaac's balls tighten at the sudden, fierce wish to touch and taste.

He can't tell his own, desperate sounds from anybody else's, but it doesn't matter much. None of them are biting back their pleasure anymore. Isaac knows that he's watched, too, and somehow he wants everyone to see, wants to share the excitement, the bliss.

“Please,” he whimpers, not knowing what he's asking for until his legs are pushed towards his chest, leaving him wide open. Two more tentacles enter him, thrusting into him hard and fast while those that fucked him before keep their slower pace, and yes, that may be exactly what; the combination catapults him right to the edge.

Arching up, he throws back his head, growling deep in his throat. Somewhere behind him, Derek answers it, and Isaac cranes his neck further, longing to _see_. He can't get a clear view, but he knows what looks like living shadows is the _thing_ all over Derek, using, destroying him just like everyone else. Stiles is close by, on his fours like Scott, and from Isaac's perspective it almost looks like he's sucking Derek in the same steady pace as he's fucked.

Isaac doesn't even realize he came until the tentacle that squeezed his cock slides up his belly to dip its tip into the cum that's pooled there. Isaac keens, almost mortified, but when that very tentacle nudges his lips, he still opens his mouth obediently. His own taste makes his head swim and his cock twitch, wanting more.

Beside him, Scott moans his name, and Isaac's eyes flutter closed as he drowns in sounds and scents and constant, mind-twisting pleasure.

~ ~ ~

The world is reduced to a blur of orgasmic waves and exhaustion. Isaac feels like floating, has lost track of how many times he came; after he had his ass and mouth almost fucked raw and was still aching for more, one of the tentacles latched onto his prostate, milking and milking and _milking_ him until he was sure to lose his mind. He may have; his screams still echo in his own ears.

Now, he's thoroughly satisfied, and utterly wrecked. Every muscle protests at the tiniest attempt to move. The tingle of ecstasy still quickens his breath and evokes an occasional moan; the memory is so intense that it keeps shooting flickers of all-consuming pleasure through his whole body.

Curled in on himself, Isaac can't tell the fondling of the _thing_ from his own shivers or Stiles' breath on his back. It's all one now. They're all spent and wasted beyond a simple afterglow—fucked and edged and edged and fucked for hours, for ever—slipping away albeit not yet being released; Isaac doesn't know about the others for sure, but one tentacle is still inside him, unmoving, just filling him. He's oddly okay with it as long as it stays that way. Only one new spark, just one more ghostly touch _there_ , and he'll possibly drop dead from acute overstimulation.

Frankly, he's afraid of the moment when the creature will leave them, when they'll have to pick up the pieces of themselves and gather what's left of their dignity . . . but for now, they're blissed out. For now, all they care about is sleeping off their high.

They hadn't cuddled up together on their own, but were arranged like that: first, a mess of hands and lips, rutting and thrusting, later, a bundle of entangled limbs. It feels safe and warm, and not at all awkward; pack-bonding at its weirdest.

Lydia's weight is heavy on Isaac's legs, but her fingers in his crotch are soft and sweet. If he wasn't so utterly destroyed, he'd roll his hips into the touch, although it isn't sexual, not anymore; like his cheek nuzzled against Derek's hipbone, like his own fingers drawing circles over Scott's ass, it's all about comfort now. A confirmation that they're okay, that they're still friends, pack, family, and that they'll stick together, no matter what.

The smell of sex is almost tangible, clings to them so thoroughly that Isaac doesn't think it can ever be washed off—but even that is good. He doesn't want it to go away, dreads losing that glow; once it wears off, he's sure things _will_ become awkward.

When Derek shifts, Isaac can't help himself from licking into his crotch, humming contentedly at the taste of cum and sweat and _belonging_. Deep inside him, arousal stirs again, but it's weak, extinct with the next heartbeat.

Derek hisses and Isaac mumbles an apology against the inside of his thigh.

“Who would've thought?” he mutters, voice darkened with fatigue. Behind him, Stiles gives a feeble snicker and nestles closer, resting his forehead against Isaac's shoulder.

“That you're insatiable?”

Isaac snorts. “That a bunch of teenagers being fucked into oblivion and back would save the world one day.”

Allison sighs. “I'd volunteer again, though.”

No one objects, even though the mere thought of any more stimulation right now is physically painful for all of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **Rounds of Kink** Round 23. Prompt [tentacle sex] and kink [Multiple orgasms, well-fucked (being fucked out; fuck-dazed; sated and sleepy; wrecked; softened and debauched)] submitted by  oteap. 
> 
> Popping my tentacle sex cherry with this one, and boy, what a challenge. Phew.
> 
> Also shamelessly abusing lovecraftian concepts.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Panmodal** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
